“You can tell me.”
“I’d rather not.”
Veryinteresting.
“Oh, no,” he moans, dread-filled gaze locking on a spot above my head.
“What?” I begin to look up, but he grabs my hand, tugging me toward him.
“Look at that!” he shouts, pointing at the flower shop. There are poinsettias painted where tulips once were, waving ever so slightly in a breeze. I hear dim voices of pretend customers deep in the shop, which is still flat, painted on the wall.
“Wow, you added an audio feature? Nice touch.”
I turn back to Hall, who’s gone red in the face.
“What’s going on with you?” I squint up above my head, but nothing’s there. “Are you okay?”
He sits down on the curb and lets his face fall into his hands.“Urnngghhhh.”Keeping one hand over his face, he jerkily waves the other in the direction of the schoolhouse, silencing the Christmas music from it.
“I am melancholy,” he confesses, conjuring a thesaurus. He leafs through its pages. “And simultaneously famished, which I am learning makes any emotion worse in conjunction.”
I sit down on the curb beside him, smoothing my dress over my knees.
“And then there’s this.” He whips out a graph from nowhere, so large that I have to lean back to view it in full. It looks like a stock chart, a jagged mountain landscape in red marker. Beneath the peaks and valleys are names.
Jimin from BTS. Janelle Monáe. David Bowie.And three separate times,Little Women: (1994: Professor Bhaer; 2019: Jo; Book version: Laurie).Bettie Hughes.
“What am I looking at?”
“These are the people I find myself the most strongly attracted to.”
I stare at the graph. My name sits at the highest peak, twenty points above Jimin. Clear, irrefutable confirmation that Hall likes me.
It feels like my heart has turned into bubbles.
His brow furrows like a frenzied scientist boggled by his own creation. “Crushing has hit me with a vengeance, barreling out from around a corner to punch me right in the brain. But it seems that out of all possible personalities, my favorite type is you.”
Me.
Out of all of his favorites, I’m theveryfavorite. He’s been telling me all week that he thinks I’m spectacular. Giving me hugs, compliments, a kiss. The way he gazes at me as if I invented hot chocolate. I had to take his ardent attentions with a grain of salt, because he celebrateseveryonelike this. Which is a quality I adore about Hall, but it’s good to know that I’m special to him in a different way.
I feel my face break into a smile, but the balloon of big, happy feelings pops when I see that Hall doesn’t look pleased about this development at all. He isn’t smiling. Which... okay, I sort of get it if his attraction is reluctant. My life was a mess when he showedup. But it’s been steadily improving and, in my opinion, can only get better from here. He and I are good together. Our spark feels magical, distinctly Bettie-and-Hall; I don’t think either of us could replicate it with anyone else as a partner. We encourage each other to dream big, shoot for the moon, reaching out a hand when the other gets stuck, bringing the other down to earth whenever one of us gets too carried away—a perfect balance. Being with Hall is so fun, so easy, sojust right. I never knew a dynamic could be like this. I always thought romantic relationships had to be dramatic battles dominated by tears and stress.
The graph disappears. “And that’s not all,” he goes on. “There’s so much I want to try. I’m thinking about everything I still haven’t done, and it’s got me in a panic. Look at this.” He summons a mug of coffee from thin air. Or not coffee, knowing him. “Red velvet creamer.”
I knew it.
“I love red velvet creamer. I love it with all of my heart. And peppermint mocha, sugar cookie, and gingerbread latte creamer. Not eggnog latte, though, it tastes too much like teleportation. But what about caramelapple? What about pumpkinspice?” His eyes are tormented. “They’re not on shelves anymore.”
“Can’t you magic some up?”
He shakes his head miserably. “It’s not the same. I want to try autumn flavors inautumn. Are there summer flavors? Spring? What is Coffee mate keeping from me?”
“You have to be patient. Seasons come and go at their own pace. I imagine this is annoying for you, when you’ve got magic that lets you take shortcuts to get whatever you like.”
“That’s just the thing. I love the changing of the seasons. I want to endure every torturous in-between; how it’s cold in themornings in springtime, then hot by afternoon. I want to watch the leaves turn color slowly at the end of the year, the contrast of red maple against a white sky when a cold snap rushes in.”
I press my lips together. “I’m... not following. Do you want me to check the pantry for... what was it? Caramel apple? I bet they have some. Grandma and Grandpa don’t check their expired products frequently enough.”
